Robert (aka) Mountain man is a lone wolf survivor who lived in his parents old log cabin deep in the woods for many years. One day, after barely surviving a gruesome attack from one the walking dead, he decided to trek out into the world on a search for his younger sibling in hopes that he has survived the outbreak. Name: Robert (aka) Mountain Man. Age: 42 Birthplace: Novodmitrovsk Born and raised in Novodmitrovsk, Robert and his brother Jim spent a lot of time hunting in the woods with their father, learning a lot about survival in the wilderness but eventually Robert and his brother planted some roots in Svetlojarsk where Robert ended up working long hours at the lumber mill on the docks but still preferred to spend most of his time at their parents old hunting cabin in the mountain woods. Current residence: Svetlojarsk. Story: I was on a recent hunting trip when the infection started... Completely oblivious to what was going on. While I was out hunting elk, the dead were out hunting the living. While sitting in my hunting cabin one evening with a whiskey in my hand, and John Denver playing on my grandfathers old 1960 Sylvania record player, my family...my friends...were fighting for their lives. It was early one Sunday morning when I first encountered an infected. As I sit, looking through the scope of my trusty rifle, I see something stumbling through the woods. When I finally focus my gaze on the figure, I noticed that it was a person covered head to toe in blood and mud. I attempted to cautiously trek through the woods toward the figure only to realize that this person appeared to be severely injured. I see blood on the side of his face, as he limps towards me. "HEY...YOU ALRIGHT?", I yelled, hoping that he is coherent enough to tell me what happened. But before I could get another word out of my mouth, his gaze met mine. He raised his arms and let out a guttural growl. "What..the...fu...!!!" Suddenly, he came full charge towards me! While stepping backwards, I caught my heel on the root of an old spruce tree, as the figure came crashing down on top of me. Winded, it took every bit of strength I had to hold this...thing....off of me. His teeth snapping, as drool dripped from what used to be his mouth. The smell, what I can only say, resembled that of a garbage bag full of used adult diapers from a nursing home I used to work at, as a teenager. As I reached down, looking for some way to get it off of me, my fingers wrapped around a rock. That's when my fight-or-flight kicked in. I swung my hand around, and smashed this thing as hard as i could in the temple, pushed him off to the side, and ran towards my truck. It was no sooner that I reached in the cab, and grabbed my shotgun, I could hear him getting closer. I turned around and fired a warning shot past his head, but it just kept coming, arms reached out in front. I fired the next shot into its shoulder, but it was like It had done nothing at all. I fired two more rounds into its chest, but it just kept running. When he was finally upon me again, I put my hand around it's neck, put my gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. The sound echoed through the trees, as a murder of crows cawed and took flight, like in Alfred Hitchcock's, The Birds. I slumped down against my truck, as my legs buckled at the thought of what had just happened...what I had just done. I sat on the ground, looking at this lifeless shell of what used to be a person lying beside me, trying to comprehend what I had just done. I must have passed out, because when I finally snapped back to reality, I gathered my strength, and got into my truck. Shaking, I dropped my keys onto the floor. I picked them up, took a deep breath, inserted the keys, and as I turned them, the truck roared to life. I flicked on the radio, and heard the emergency broadcast system alert. The news reporter came on, and it was then, I finally understood what was going on. I had to get back to camp. Forget camp. I had to get back to Svetlojarsk. I had to get back home and find my brother.